Alexander Wept: The General's Command
by SamRoyal
Summary: The Minutemen are led by a soldier of the old world, a man out of time. But with the Institute defeated, and the BoS beaten, what else is left for the General to accomplish in this strange new world? Rating may go up in later chapters, some dark themes. Genre left blank, for now.
1. Chapter 1

I woke with a start, as usual. The ghostly echo of a gunshot, the ebbing helplessness of the bitter, claustrophobic cold, all faded, replaced by the steady hum of generators and the starchy irritation of coarse blankets. Reality. And yet the dream had felt so much more real.

I laid there awhile, on that narrow cot. I stared up at the bare concrete of the ceiling and the bare light bulb hanging there. It flickered in time with the generator's hum. I breathed, deep, the lingering musky odour of Mirelurk scat still there under the newer smells of wet concrete, fresh plaster, of petrol smoke and the sea.

And then, inevitably, it was time to get up. Time to be seen, to give orders, to be the hero of the common man.

It struck me often, how the thin mattress and scratchy blankest suddenly became the epitome of luxury, just as soon as it was time for me to leave them.

Fort Independence. "The Castle". Stronghold of the Minutemen, and the place I called home.

Of all the places in the Commonwealth, this austere military outpost was the place I felt I belonged. The bustle of the supply caravans and their lumbering Brahmin, the steady tread of sentries on the walls, and the endless martial music and businesslike reports broadcast over the radio. It was all so comforting, somehow reassuring, to be here in this hive of activity, with all its comings and goings. Here, in the centre of an army that somehow I had come to command.

As I emerged from the General's quarters in the northernmost bastion, the sound of the artillery emplacements firing made me pause for a moment. Artillery had been the turning point for the Minutemen. From a group that was made up of little more than myself, and a few armed farmers, it had proved to be a force equaliser like nothing else in the Commonwealth.

But I knew that it was my changes that had turned the militia into an army, a credible force, with the power to erase the mighty, and tumble the ivory towers of those who had looked down at us mere mortals in disdain. Oh yes. The Minutemen had come a long way from Preston and his scared little band of survivors.

At times like this, when the dreams were so real, the sturdy reality of this, my greatest achievement in nearly two years in this hellish new world... well. This place, and what it stood for, was one of the very few things that stopped me from going back.

Going back to that fateful overlook, over the so-called Sanctuary that was more of a prison than a sanctuary.

Making that long, grinding descent into the earth, into that pit of freezing horror and death.

Walking those echoing corridors, to the pod where it had started.

And never coming back out.


	2. Chapter 2

"Morning, General."

Preston Garvey, my second in command, appeared as if summoned from thin air, laser musket held casually in both hands, and showing no signs of tiredness even at this early hour.

"Feeling all right? Because you look like crap, Sir."

He must have seen the look on my face, and he was quick to add a swift "No offence, Sir."

"None taken, Preston. I can't look half as bad as I feel."

Garvey was a good man, and a friend, as well as my second in command. Once or twice in the past, in my darker moments, I'd regretted ever getting involved with that little group besieged in Concord, though admittedly that was usually because Marcy Long had been on one of her little monologues. But Garvey made that crazy decision to face off against raiders and then the Deathclaw seem worthwhile, though I retained my suspicion of any plan Sturges came up with ever since.

"Anything new?" I asked. "I heard the guns firing just now."

Preston just shook his head. "Just some Brotherhood stragglers moving around in the ruins. We dropped a few shells and they crawled back under their rocks. I sent a patrol to check for casualties." Preston's face changed into a concerned frown. "They seem to be getting braver again, Sir."

Ah, the Brotherhood of Steel. Once, I'd thought they had the right idea, and there had been individuals I'd respected hugely. Danse, Haylen, Ingram. I regretted their deaths, almost as much as I did the deaths of those squires. Poor kids.

At least Danse and Haylen had died painlessly. I'd killed them myself, during the raid on the Cambridge Police Station. That had been hellish, but it was something I couldn't just delegate. It was personal, and I owed it to them.

After the Prydwen had gone down, and the Brotherhood's avenging air assault had failed, the remainder of the Brotherhood had been forced into guerrilla warfare. With most of their fleet of vertibirds burned with the Prydwen, or smashed apart by the Castle's missile turrets, their days of air superiority were long gone. Power armour was no guarantee of safety against artillery, and the Minutemen had numbers. Still, sooner or later, I knew they'd try something insanely brave, and I wasn't about to discount them as a beaten enemy just yet.

I ran a hand over my face, grimacing at the three weeks worth of beard.

"We'll keep an eye on them Preston, don't worry. Anything else that needs doing around here today?" I was hoping that there wasn't, so I could make the journey to Diamond City for a decent shave. But my second in command smiled. It was faint, and brief, but I saw it, and I couldn't stop from groaning.

"Well General, since you asked, I've got word about one of our settlements that needs some help..."


End file.
